Scattered seeds
The farmer who plants one field eats.
The one who scatters seeds across the valley starves.
We live in the valley now.
Infinite courses. Infinite content.
Infinite ways to spend an hour without finishing anything.
We start languages we'll never speak.
Save articles we'll never read.
Add books to shelves that have become graveyards of good intentions.
And we call it keeping our options open.
But options don't feed you. Depth does.
The thing you return to. The skill you let shape your hands.
The person you stay long enough to actually know.
Roots don't form in passing.
They need you to stop scattering and stand somewhere.
You don't need more seeds.
You need fewer fields.
We scatter ourselves across everything and wonder why nothing takes root. Breadth feels like freedom. But depth is what grows.
